


Top Shelf

by ThePenultimateAvenger



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Break Up, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePenultimateAvenger/pseuds/ThePenultimateAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt walks into a bar on The Worst Birthday Ever and meets Hermann Gottlieb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Top Shelf

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to publish this on Newt's actual birthday, but I'm a day late oops. I hope you like it anyway.

 The bar isn't well lit. Smoke floats lazily in the air and Newt spares a glance over to the woman sitting at a booth in the corner whose ashtray is overflowing with cigarette butts before claiming one of the bar stools as his own. The bartender is a dapper looking man with a bowtie adorning his neck and his hair slicked back in a way that makes Newt jealous because his own hair never quite ceases its constant state of barely controlled chaos. “What can I get you?” he asks, and the smile that accompanies the words is understanding and sympathetic.

“Surprise me.” Newt says with a half-hearted upturn of his lips. He's past caring about what the alcohol tastes like, so long as it is, in fact, _alcohol_ _ic_. “Preferably something strong enough to make today feel like a bad dream when I wake up in the morning.”

“Can do, buddy.”

Music is being played from a small set of speakers behind the bar, quiet and jazzy with lyrics that Newt can't quite focus on in his state of misery. The woman in the corner pulls out another cigarette with a well-manicured hand, flashing Newt a smile when she looks up to find him staring. Newt looks away.

“I've never seen you in here before.” The bartender notes as he sets a glass of something dark on the counter in front of Newt. “Most of the people who come here are regulars.”

Newt manages a shrug, taking a swig of his drink and cringing as the taste hits him, burning a trail down his throat and reminding him how much he dislikes drinking. “It's out of the way.” He says. It's not the best explanation but it's mostly true, and as he takes another, smaller sip of his drink he realizes that he probably wouldn't run into his (now) ex-boyfriend at a bar anyway, even if said bar was right around the corner from his apartment.

Still, it doesn't hurt to be safe. Newt knows exactly what he would do if he ran into Kenneth after a couple drinks and he plays the scene out in his head bitterly as the song changes more melancholy. He'd stumble over to his ex—and oh, how thinking of him as an ex already hurts—and place a hand on his shoulder, looking him straight in the eye before slurring something sarcastic and laced with hurt about breaking up with someone on their birthday.

Not that Kenneth had bothered to remember the date, Newt reminds himself. Happy fucking birthday to him. Out of the corner of his eye he notices a man take a seat across from the woman in the corner, leaning in close for a brief kiss and Newt sighs miserably. He hadn't been expecting it, and maybe he should have, but Kenneth had never shown signs of dissatisfaction toward their relationship. Especially that morning when Newt had leaned over him in bed, blowing more than just his lover's mind.

Newt almost laughs at the thought of the peace and quiet that the neighbors are sure to experience now that he isn't a part of the picture.

He realizes that he's glaring at a napkin dispenser and changes his expression to something he hopes is more neutral, trying to push his troubles to the back of his mind. He finishes off his drink and motions for the bartender to get him another one, reaching his hands into the pockets of his jacket and spinning slightly on the bar stool.

The door opens with a gust of chilly January air and Newt turns his head to see a man take a seat a few stools down from him. The guy looks cold despite his layers (and seriously, who wears sweater vests these days?) and Newt's pretty sure he even has his glasses on a chain around his neck.

“Bad day?” Newt asks as his drink is set in front of him, taking note of the way the newcomer was rubbing at his face.

“I'm sorry, do I know you?” The voice, somehow, isn't what Newt had been expecting, but the stuffy British accent fits inexplicably to the appearance. The words were definitely a brush-off, but Newt merely scooted onto the next stool, leaning closer with a sip of his drink.

“The name's Newton Geiszler, I guess you do now.” He extends his hand for a handshake but the guy doesn't make a move to reciprocate.

“Here's your drink, Gottlieb.” The bartender cuts in, casting a glance between the two men.

“Gottlieb? That's like, German for 'God love', right?”

“And I suppose you're an expert?” Gottlieb asks with something that borders on a sneer, but the harshness of his tone doesn't deter Newt.

“I'm fluent in German, yeah.” he says simply. “I lived there, actually, for about five years when I was a kid. So is there a first name that goes with that, or were your parents really so cruel as to name you Gottlieb?”

There's a reluctance, Newt can tell, but the man finally says, “Hermann.”

“Well, Hermann, it's nice to meet you. So, are you going to tell me about your bad day?” Perhaps hearing about someone else's bad day will make Newt feel better about his own issues, and he grabs his drink and plops down on the stool right beside Hermann.

“I still don't see why it's any of your business.” Hermann says, but his tone is warmer than it was at the beginning, and that thought encourages Newt to keep at the conversation.

“You tell me yours I'll tell you mine.” Newt offers a winning smile, and he considers nudging Hermann with his shoulder but thinks better of it. They may have exchanged names but they still don't necessarily _know_ each other, and Newt still wants to be respectful of Hermann's personal space.

Hermann heaves a sigh and Newt thinks that the conversation might be coming to a close, but after a few seconds of silence Hermann seems to relax. “My funding was cut. I'm part of a team of scientists at the university looking into this...well, it may sound ridiculous but it's sort of a mind bridge. It allows two people to share a connection and, perhaps in the future, even pilot mechanical bodies to mirror their own.”

“Holy shit that sounds crazy cool!” Newt cuts in because the thought of a real life Vulcan mind meld is beyond awesome.

“Yes, well. There was a mishap a few months ago that resulted in mild brain damage for one of the volunteers, and even though they signed the waiver, today the department came to the conclusion that our project isn't safe enough to continue funding.” Hermann takes a long drink, seemingly unaffected by the burn of the alcohol.

“The dude signed a waiver, that's so unfair! Science isn't supposed to be _safe_!”

“It may not be fair, but that's life.” Hermann says, and even though he's shaking his head there's a hint of amusement behind his words.

Another song comes on, and Newt immediately recognizes it because Kenneth always listened to Bruce Springsteen in the car. He's hit again by how much the loss hurts, and it must show on his face because Hermann raises an eyebrow. “Tendo, get us both another drink.” he calls over to the bartender before getting to his feet, and Newt's about to ask what he's doing when he motions to one of the booths. “Bar stools are far from the most comfortable place to hold a conversation.”

Newt follows, shrugging off his jacket and sliding into the seat across from Hermann. “Well I guess it's my turn.” he says with a small grimace.

“Those were the agreed upon terms.”

“Well okay, first of all, it's my birthday.”

“Happy birthday, then.”

“Thanks. You're one of three people to actually acknowledge it, the other two being my parents.” Newt makes a face at this because the day has definitely earned the title of Worst Birthday Ever, beating out his twelfth birthday when the cake caught on fire. “And to celebrate the occasion, my boyfriend gave me a ' _sorry_ ' and a ' _this isn't working out_ '. So, I mean, I guess I should be calling him my _ex_ -boyfriend, but I haven't really gotten used to the thought yet.” he shrugs, taking the glass the bartender (Tendo?) sets in front of him before sauntering back behind the counter. “But break ups happen, I guess. Like you said, that's life.”

“Perhaps if he didn't bother remembering your birthday, he wasn't worth the trouble in the first place. How long were you together?”

“Eight months.” Newt says. He rolls up his sleeves, the alcohol plus the heater making him feel too warm. “And I guess, if I'm being honest, there were a lot of things he did that pissed me off that I put up with just because I didn't think it was worth it to end the relationship. Like, he never really _listened_ to me when I talked about the things I liked. Because when someone's talking to you about something they're passionate about, it's only polite to at least act interested, you know? But no. As soon as I would finish speaking, he'd change the topic to something else completely different without even acknowledging what I'd been talking about.”

“In that case, I'm surprised you stuck with him so long.”

“There were good things, too, don't get me wrong. And I know for a fact that I was pretty much the best boyfriend in the universe. Fuck that guy.”

“Acceptance. You're moving on already.” Hermann says with a smirk.

“It's probably just the alcohol talking.” Newt counters. He feels good, though. There's something about Hermann that makes him smile. “But he _was_ a dick. I'll admit that much.”

“Those are interesting.” Hermann notes with a look down at the tattoos that wind their way up Newt's arms. The words, coming from anyone else, would probably have sounded insulting but Hermann makes is sound like a compliment. “I take it you're a fan of sea creatures?”

“I'm studying to be a marine biologist.” Newt explains with a grin. “But yeah, the ocean is both terrifying and AWESOME and I could talk for _days_ about the things that live in it.”

“Do you study at the local university?”

“Yep. I've been working on my degree for the past three and a half years.”

“I'm surprised I've never seen you, then.”

“I'm sure you're a very busy man, what with your cool science things.”

 

They talk for another hour and fifteen minutes, subjects ranging everywhere from Godzilla to foreign relations until they're left smiling at each other in silence. Newt glances over to the woman in the corner to find that she's gone, leaving the overflowing ashtray and the smell of smoke in her wake. “You're a good drinking buddy.” he asserts, pointing at Hermann with an unsteady finger. “Here, gimme your pen.” he makes grabby-hands at the pen in Hermann's breast pocket, uncapping it when he has it in his grasp and pulling Hermann's hand over. “This is my number. Call me, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Hermann agrees, smiling as Newt returns his hand. “You're not driving, are you?”

“I'll catch a cab.” Newt slides out of the booth and pulls his jacket on, zipping it up and mentally preparing himself to face the cold.

“You're a good guy, Newton. You deserve better than him.” Hermann says, enunciating his words despite his obvious drunkenness.

Newt offers one last smile before turning to the door, biting his lip when Hermann can no longer see his face.

He does deserve better.

And the chemistry he feels with Hermann, he knows, isn't because of the alcohol. He's half way to the door before he changes his mind, turning around and making a split second decision. As he approaches the table, he can see Hermann's questioning look and he doesn't stop until his toes hit the side of the booth, leaning down and brushing a kiss against Hermann's cheek. “Um, yeah. Call me.” he says again after a moment, smiling again before making his way outside.

The cold doesn't diminish the warmth he feels as he waits for a cab.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure where this came from and I'm not really sure if I'm going to expand on it (I still have to finish my other Newmann fic, after all) so I'm going to leave is as complete for right now.
> 
> This started off as a Newtibal fic but somehow turned into this. You can bet that Hannibal Chau owns the bar, though.


End file.
